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The Voice

 

 

 

It is possible to misrepresent the words and to ruin a melody. . .

The voice cannot be falsified. .

 

Life is the daughter of Radiance. .     When she sings everything works out and we think that you – earthlings will understand what one of us wanted to tell you through the song. . .               You don’t understand any other way for a long time. .

 

Life can sometimes live in the chest of some woman. . .     Then her throat changes. . .   not for long. . .     while she sings this song. . .   .

 

And you think that she sings it herself. . .     this woman. . .   .     You are fools.

 

So we were hoping back then. . .

 

 

 

If you want to know what Life really wanted to sing about, then the words are more likely to be like this:

 

 

I carried my Disaster

Across the spring ice,

The ice broke off – the soul broke off,

And went under the water like a stone…

And though the Disaster is heavy –

But for the sharp edges lingered,

But for the sharp edges lingered.

 

That’s what he told him,

My Lord,

So they gave me away, they gave me away, they blabbed me out.

He was not himself and angry,

He followed me,

The lackeys volunteered to go with him,

The lackeys volunteered to go with him.

 

He caught up with me, overtook me,

He gave me up after raping me,

So that the lackeys can have fun with me…

He couldn’t get enough with fun –

It was a nice day,

And the Disaster stayed forever,

And the Disaster stayed forever

 

And from that day on the Disaster

Looking for me in the world,

Next to it, there is a Rumor and Deceitful.

And that I’m not dead,

Knew the bare willow

And quails with their quails,

And quails with their quails.

 

I carried my Disaster

Across the spring ice…

 

 

This One always changes the words. . .           so that no one would understand what Life was singing about. The voice can not be falsified – it must be her voice, after all.

 

 

 

 

Grandma, what happens when no one understands?

 

So Life and Death will die in vain again. . .               In vain again, granddaughter. . .

 

 

 

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